


a friend dressed in leather

by RattyCatty



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Bisexual Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Bondage, F/F, F/M, Hate Sex, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Smoking, regina and hook are the switchiest switches to ever switch, regina is kind of gay for emma but doesnt know it yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-08 23:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RattyCatty/pseuds/RattyCatty
Summary: She thinks aboutI’ve been tied up in bed – not in the good wayand how long it’s been since she’s had anyone close, let alone like that. She thinks about that afternoon all those years ago when she’d refused to let him touch her but wondered afterwards, what he would be like, how he’d touch her,fuck her. She thinks about her mother just upstairs, and a blonde saviour and the many people begging her to be good, whatever Good looks like to them. She decides. “You think you can handle me, pirate?” she purrs, playing the game.A challenge. A war.A rebellion, maybe.or, times Regina and Hook fuck each other out of angst and wish they were fucking the saviour instead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this will be a regina/emma/hook fic, but we're gonna take a couple of chapters getting there because they are all sad idiots who are allergic to feelings. please do not yell at me if you hate any of those three characters or ships involving them, or if you expected something different - i have tagged everything or will make sure i do when the new chapter comes out.
> 
> this came out of the fact that i rewatched ouat and found that actually, hook is kinda cool sometimes when he's not being sexually harrass-y or a lame puppy and he and regina could have been good friends if the writers could write, but also im still a slut for swan queen. queue hooked swan queen switchy goodness. enjoy :)
> 
> warnings: alcohol, porn, eventual ot3, bondage, swearing, mentions of cora being shitty, mentions of torture

It starts a long, long time ago – she’s a queen clad in velvet, hidden away in her towering castle and he’s a drunken pirate, reeking of rum and leather. She wants her mother dead and he wants revenge and it works for them; a perfect game of careful seduction and self-indulgent instant-gratification. She says, “Is that any way to address a queen?” and “ _Captain,”_ and watches the slight change in his eyes, the way his pouty lips curve when she draws him closer with the point of his own stolen hook.

Sex and power and violence is a game they each know well, so it’s no surprise to either of them when the Queen leans in, eases the goblet slowly from the pirate’s hand and _takes._ He is putty in her hands, rolling easily with it when she squeezes him in her palm, and moaning softly when she scrapes pointed steel hard down his chest.

She gives him just enough pleasure to _want_ and just enough pain to make him think twice about crossing her. It’s not enough, in the end – his _life_ turns out to be a better incentive from a crueller evil, but they’ll remember this in decades to come when velvet is swapped for rich cotton and everything is just as dire.

* * *

She’s in her study when he limps in and settles lazily against the wall. Her back is turned to him, head down, yet he sees the tell-tale way her body stiffens as soon as she hears him enter.

“Hook,” Regina says coolly, turning to face him. “What can I do for you?”

Hook shrugs, just looks at her. She has a drink in her hand, as she often seems to, and in the other is framed photo. The smooth glass and bright glossy colour call out to him and he cocks his head. Is it the boy? The blonde?

She sees him staring and slips the photograph behind her, back onto the desk where it belongs.

“Not going soft on us, are you, Your Majesty?” he teases with a smirk, running a finger calmly along the sleek edge of his hook.

Regina’s nostrils flare and she bites out, “Absolutely not.” Her throat bobs as she tips her head back and drains the last of her glass in one mouthful before refilling it once more. “Can I _help you?”_ she growls.

That’s more like the queen he remembers.

And still – there’s something different about her – softer, even if she’ll lie to his face or maim him for saying it. It has him curious – intrigued to know if anything else has changed.

Whether or not she’s still that domineering queen who had brought him literally to his knees, blushing and moaning and cumming over his own belly, with nothing but a skilled hand and promises of revenge. Whether tasteful cotton and a loving mother’s touch are the only things about her that are no longer severe and over-arching.

He pushes delicious thoughts away before his pants can tighten – he could do without an inconvenient boner right now – and shrugs again, sets her with an irritating half-smile. “Bored. Not much for a pirate to do around these parts.” Hook pushes off the wall towards the bookshelf, feigning interest. “Not really one for books or sitting around plotting.”

“Clearly,” Regina scoffs. “I’m surprised you even know how to read.”

“I’m a man of many talents.” He saunters back over to the desk where she’s perched delicately and plucks the glass out of her hand as she had all those years ago, delighting in the way her top lip curls back. When he gulps half of it, she huffs angrily.

“ _Enough,”_ she growls. Two fingers jab him in his still-tender ribs and he yelps as she snatches the glass back out of his good hand with a smirk. “You can help yourself to your _own_ drink if you’re thirsty.”

Hook hums absently, and then thinks _fuck it._ If he’s going to be floating about in this hollow mansion while they _bide their time_ he might as well shoot his shot. “I’m thirsty, but I’d rather help myself to something else,” he rasps, ghosting his hook down the side of her arm.

Regina breathes a laugh, can barely take him and his stupid leering seriously. He’s closer, though, close enough Regina can feel his antiseptic breath hot against her skin and it has her wrinkling her nose instinctively against the stench of _pirate_ , leather and salt and alcohol. Yet her eyes wander down his chest in spite of herself.

She thinks about _I’ve been tied up in bed – not in the good way_ and how _long_ it’s been since she’s had anyone close, let alone like that. She thinks about that afternoon all those years ago when she’d refused to let him touch her but _wondered_ afterwards, what he would be like, how he’d touch her, _fuck_ her. She thinks about her mother just upstairs, and a blonde saviour and the many people begging her to be _good_ , whatever Good looks like to them. She decides. “You think you can handle me, pirate?” she purrs, playing the game.

A challenge. A war.

A rebellion, maybe – Regina imagines Mother’s displeasure at the two of them getting side-tracked from their big plan just to indulge in their most base impulses and feels equal amounts anxiety and thrilled arousal.

Hook picks up the gauntlet, of course he does, presses himself in closer. “I know I can, love,” he breathes against her mouth, and then he’s pushing his lips against hers, hard and unforgiving. She gives as good as she gets, tears at his leathers, pulls his hips against hers as he shoves her up onto her desk and spreads her thighs.

Mother will surely be back soon, she’s always close, lurking, but for now they have – this. Regina breathes him in until she can’t think anymore, can’t spare a single part of her brain for thoughts of mother or daggers or right versus wrong – just _pleasure_ and _pain_ and the taste of iron as she bites down hard on his lip when he rucks up her skirt and pushes inside her.

Hook holds her roughly, bruising – tethers her down into this moment right here as he fucks her and she moans, squeezes him closer and pushes her tongue into his mouth and _forgets._

* * *

He’s sitting on the bed in the spare room – his, for now, for however long this tentative and volatile alliance lasts between the three of them – and it’s her turn to make him look up in surprise as she appears in the doorway.

“What do you want?” he grumbles.

Regina shrugs, feigns uncaring. “Checking in on you. Making sure you haven’t done anything stupid.”

“Aw, didn’t realise you cared.” He shoots her a sardonic smile. “Still here, you can rest easy.”

Regina offers an equally sarcastic fake smirk and after a hesitant moment, perches next to him on the bed. She doesn’t say anything, just sits, hands clasped in her lap.

It’s afternoon, the sky grey and misty outside, and he’s taking the moment to cool his anger so he can think straight if they’re to do this right. Cora rubs him the wrong way, her cloying faux kindness from earlier only serving to make him angrier. Regina is sometimes irritating, cruel, but somewhat of a kindred spirit – tormented by spirits of loved ones snatched too soon, endlessly chasing a revenge that he can’t even be sure will satisfy.

At least she has her boy, even if the lad doesn’t quite love her. He has – well, he has his ship, and realms of adventure, but it’s never quite enough, is it?

“You’ll get your boy when this is all over,” he offers. “If there’s anything I’ve learnt, it’s that a Mills doesn’t give up easily.” For better or worse, he thinks with a grimace.

Regina smiles just barely, a soft sad thing. She stays quiet. The house is quiet.

“What did you come for anyway?” Hook asks with a frown, his voice sounding rough and too-loud breaking the silence. “A repeat performance? Liked me so much you couldn’t stay away?” he teases, tongue swiping along his bottom lip sleazily.

“Yes, because you are _so_ irresistible,” Regina says with a roll of her eyes.

“Aye, you had an absolutely horrible time last night, I’m sure.”

Regina’s lips curl upwards further into an amused smirk, and he chuckles smugly, but then it’s gone again and she fixes him with those dark, shadowed eyes.

Hook squints at her. There’s that thing he’d noticed yesterday again. She’s quiet, distant in a way he’s not seen before – wonders if it’s the shock of her mother being back or if it’s the boy and the blonde, or purely just the weariness of staying angry for so long.

He can’t think too long about it. Regina leans into his space and then her mouth is on his, warm and soft and gentle and hard at the same time, desperate in a way she hadn’t quite been the night before. Her hand grips the back of his neck, nails digging in and he moans against her, allows himself to be pushed back against the soft sheets by a delicate hand on his chest.

Regina covers his body with hers, knees either side of his hips, grinds down slowly and has him gasping and already hardening against her.

She knows too well what to do with her body to get a reaction, where to press and where to tease. _He_ knows too well that for people like them, that experience only comes with pain and the things they do to run from it – remembers foggy nights with nameless girls from taverns and passing out alone with a hollow heart.

Thick black rope appears around his wrists and ankles so his wrists are pinned above his head and he’s spread-eagle across the bed, drawing him out of his head before he can spiral too far. _That’s more like it._ They hadn’t had time yesterday, but this is them, and she knows how much he gets off on it just as much as he knows she needs the illusion of control.

Regina pauses her mouth’s assault on his neck to bite down hard near his collarbone. “We can’t keep doing this,” she growls huskily, but doesn’t make any move to stop. Instead, she’s quickly freeing him from his vest and shirt and rocking harder against his arousal. Her nails scrape down his chest and leave reddened trails behind.

“Want to see you – please,” is all he can groan, voice cracking, and as they look at each other for a second, her lip curls. She’s going to say no, the pirate’s sure, but then she pauses, relents, and with a swish of a hand the queen is left in nothing but skimpy black lace and her stockings and garters.

Regina presses her mouth against his again, flicks her tongue and it goes quick after that, all rushed and desperate movement. He’s prone, useless as she takes initiative, can’t do anything but groan when she unbuttons his pants, slides her underwear to the side and sinks down on him. She takes him hard and fast, nails scraping over where they’d already marred the skin until it splits and bleeds and all Hook can do is delight in the pain.

“This – ah – means nothing,” Regina swears, but her voice cracks in the middle as she writhes on top of him.

It goes without saying.

They’re too fucked up for anything close to love, both of them, but Hook thinks he’ll enjoy this dangerous, delicious game they play while it lasts anyway because she is _intoxicating._

He wonders if maybe she needs this thing of theirs too, because when Regina cums, she fucking _shatters_ around him. Still, despite the way her thighs shake and her back arches, she hides her face in her arms, bites her tongue and refuses to make a sound.

* * *

He comes to her in her office after her mother’s death, all puppy-dog eyes and gentle wheedling until they strike an agreement. “My mother died,” she states flatly when he slips up, and Hook’s face falls.

“That is sad news,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry,” he offers and seems genuine. He’s not nearly as angry as she’d expect him to be after he’d lost his chance at revenge yet again and alarm bells ring in her head. But then he’s speaking again, quiet words of comfort that have her guard lowering.

Regina stutters half a sentence and then swallows, collects herself and narrows her eyes at him. “Let me show you something.”

“Oh, she’d have loved that,” Hook chuckles appreciatively at the sight of the sprouting beans, and a burst of pride blooms inside her chest despite herself. Few people have ever praised her and meant it, and when he nods along agreeably to her plan, she’s annoyed to find herself wanting _more_ , more of that pleasant feeling and more of his soothing words.

“We’ll surely get happy endings with these beans and your strategy – we do make quite the team, after all.” His hook grazes her little finger and he grins, suddenly close.

“Yes we do,” Regina agrees. A devious smirk curls her lips upwards, and she allows her gaze to wander down his chest. Maybe _once more_ couldn’t hurt – not when soon it will all be over anyway.

Maybe they can have this – this moment of simple, animalistic pleasure when everything else around them is so complicated and _shit._

Hook leans in, his nose brushing hers and lips teasing. “Do we have time for a different kind of happy ending before we get our revenge?”

And Regina laughs at the terrible innuendo, pushes up to meet him and grant his wish, but he dips away quickly, pressing lingering kisses down the column of her throat instead.

Anything else feels too intimate now.

Regina doesn’t mind. She just wants to feel. 

“You’re stunning,” he whispers, having picked up on the way she warms to his praise, and pushes her against the wall. “Can’t wait to taste you – gonna make you feel so good.” He’s palming a breast through her shirt, pressing a kiss to the top of her other. He’s good, so good impossibly good for a stupid womanizing pirate, and the way he teases her nipple into a peak has her mewling.

She hates herself. She hates Hook and his quest for revenge against Rumple and the hook-shaped poison-infected wound that had taken her mother from her in his place. She hates her mother. She loves and misses her mother. She _hates_ Snow White and her forced _heroic_ matricide and every one of those charming do-no-wrong heroes and stupid Emma Swan _._ “Fuck – lower –”

“Whatever Her Majesty wants,” Hook promises, a little husky, a little teasing as he drops to his knees and pushes her skirt up around her waist. Still, he takes his sweet fucking time getting to where she needs him most, and she just wants – _needs_ to stop thinking, so she hisses, “ _Captain.”_

“Sorry, love – you’re just – irresistible,” he murmurs. He draws her panties slowly down her thighs to her knees, listening to her soft whimper at the praise, and dips in for a taste. Regina moans loudly and he continues to work his tongue earnestly until her thighs are trembling.

She _loves_ this, Hook on his knees for her with pink cheeks and an eager mouth, the speed at which he obeys – this give and take of his mile-long submissive streak and the way he allows her to be vulnerable and dominant at the same time. “Touch yourself,” Regina orders and savours his groan, the creak of leather as she imagines him pleasuring himself obediently.

The pirate keeps working reverently between her thighs, and the lashing of his tongue is almost too much, has her grasping the wall behind her, scraping her nails against the wallpaper. _Come for me, my queen,_ she thinks she hears him groan and it’s her turn to obey as she tips right over the edge, cursing loudly. She vaguely hears him grunt his release, a strangled _oh, fuck!_ and then they’re both slumping and breathing hard.

Regina collects herself quickly as she always does after they do this – always, as they have now become a _multiple-time thing_ and she never meant for that to happen. Hook is still flushed, sweaty, and god he looks good, so she helps him up off the floor and fixes his hair. She can’t resist leaning in for an open-mouthed kiss, groaning at the taste of herself when she brushes her tongue against his.

When they part, Regina looks him in the eye, unsure if she’s going for flirtation or intimidation, but really, it’s all the same for them isn’t it? Power, love, sex, it all blurs for people like them. “Clean yourself up, and let’s catch ourselves a happy ending.”

Hook smirks – “Aye, let’s,” and it feels simple and light for just a moment.

Later, at the mines, she pushes him over the edge of a cliff and laughs, and he hands her over to the pair of outsiders with her magic snuffed out, and it’s difficult again. So much for _skipping the unpleasant betrayal business,_ she supposes, but then this is what they do – they’re villains, both of them, not worthy of anyone, not even worthy of one other.

“You don’t even know who you’re working for,” Regina spits at him and pulls against the thick leather. She’s never been religious but at that moment she prays he’ll see sense within all this blind, raging stupidity.

But she’s never had much luck with wishes and fairies or gods and prayers. When Hook strides out of the room, uninterested in her torture but equally disinterested in her life, she’s not surprised but her throat closes up and she feels a sting of betrayal anyway.

In moments, there will be no room for even that – there will be just searing agony and the vague smell of burning flesh. She thinks none of it matters anyway. She thinks that maybe this really is what she deserves.

Thinks that maybe, finally, she can rest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: alcohol, porn, eventual ot3, bondage, swearing, smoking, self-destruction, mentions of torture, brief mentions of wanting death (but nothing actively suicidal or graphic)

If she accepts the flask handed to her as she stares out at the stars with despair, doesn’t move away from his offered warmth in the cool night, it’s nobody’s business but her own. Regina’s still weak from her little surprise electroshock session, still angry at Hook and at the heroes and at Rumple and her mother, but she’s so _tired_. It’s exhaustion that settles deep into the marrow of her bones, and sometimes she wishes she had died on that table (or that they had left her be for once, because Snow had informed her quietly with haunted eyes, that apparently she _had_ been technically, medically dead for a couple of minutes before being healed by Blue’s magic – her heart had stopped but remained intact and it was a short enough time for magic to resurrect her, like a mystical defibrillator, and she thinks the laws of magic are terribly fucking cruel sometimes.) She’s sick of constantly fighting to keep her head above water, fighting for power, family, love – she’s sick of it all.

But Henry is missing, and she’ll be damned if she lets anything happen to him, so here she is, fighting for a little longer.

They don’t talk about the cannery – not her, not Hook, not anyone. She’s not sure she _can_ without reliving it in all its humiliating hellishness, and it’s all water under the bridge at this point anyway – all that matters is finding her son. Everything else can and will wait.

Hook talks instead of villains and happy endings, of his past clashes with Pan and Neverland, of failed revenge, and he’s a moron but maybe they’re lucky to have someone who’s at least been here before – who has a slight inkling of what he’s doing, which is more than the rest of them right now.

Maybe _she’s_ lucky he’s here so she’s not stuck on this stupid ship with only sickening positivity and _true love_ for company.

Regina’s no fool – she sees his yearning looks at Emma, the leers he doesn’t even bother to hide. She knows sheis not who the pirate really truly wants, but then he’s not exactly her first choice either. Maybe she even empathises, somehow, each time he’s staunchly rejected by the saviour.

She doesn’t want to think too much about that one.

Doesn’t want to think too hard about the complicated pang of jealousy followed by victorious thrill each time – because she would never be jealous over _Hook_ , he’s not worth it, but _Emma?_ Surely not her either, maybe about their son but not about love, not about who she’s choosing or choosing not to fuck.

Yet here they are, both all too familiar with the sting of not being _worthy,_ of never being enough, denied love and family and happiness.

When Hook’s hand settles against her waist tentatively, Regina huffs a breath. “What are you doing,” she asks flatly, barely a question.

“Comforting,” he answers simply. “You’re tense.”

Regina snarls, “I wonder why,” and then, “I don’t need pity, _pirate_ , especially not from you,” but she doesn’t move away, just snatches the flask back and drinks deeply.

“Not pity, _Your Majesty,”_ he growls. “And I am sorry about that – they promised me my revenge. You of all people should understand,” he follows up, and she hates that she does. Hates that this is not a high-ground she can really take, considering all she has done, but it makes her fucking furious all the same. Because he’s just one more person who’s enabled her suffering, just another betrayal.

“A distraction. For both of us. How about it?” he finishes, and she thinks of the muscular aches in her back that won’t let her sleep, the new nightmares that have joined the old ones, the blonde sleeping restlessly below deck in the bunk next to Regina’s, who is too _good_ for either of them –

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Regina snarls, but pulls him closer, closer until his front presses tight against her back in an imitation of love. “But yes,” she breathes almost inaudibly, thinking of the dreamless sleep that follows a good couple of orgasms. God, it’s been so long since she’d slept through the night without waking up with a scream caught in her throat. “Yes,” she whispers and doesn’t dare move when he traces her hipbone, draws tracks up her stomach, beneath silk and over the top of lace, doesn’t dare make a sound or do anything but shift minutely to allow him access to her breasts.

He toys with her, surprisingly adept at what he’s doing and has her breath hitching in her chest, her nipples pebbling under his fingers. When he dips his hand lower, down beneath her leggings to play between her thighs Regina grips the side of the boat so hard her knuckles turn white and prays to god no one comes up onto deck.

Her orgasm creeps up on her, washes over her tense body embarrassingly fast as Hook flicks his thumb unrelentingly against her clit, two fingers inside her and the point of his hook grazing the delicate inside of her wrist. Her brain turns to mush under the pleasure and the warmth of rum and another body against hers. The brief reprieve from her racing thoughts is a relief, has her eyes watering against her will.

Refusing to let tears fall, Regina reaches back behind her to palm his arousal. His fingers are still working inside her in a way that has her belly coiling again, but they falter as she slips her hand into his pants and strokes him steadily. She imagines his eyes are squeezed shut and feels safer for it, rocks against his fingers a little harder.

She says, “This doesn’t make up for what you did – don’t think we’re ok now,” and he nods behind her, swallows, agrees in a strained voice as his fingers fumble a little again, “I know – I’m sorry – everything’s fucked. We’re both fucked.” and at least that, she can agree with.

“Don’t you dare stop, Captain,” Regina murmurs as loudly as she dares and gets only a strangled groan in response. Hook settles into a slightly unsteady rhythm again, hitting that perfect spot inside her.

And even though it is Hook behind her, masculine fingers moving inside her, his hardness in her hand, her mind flickers inexplicably to strong biceps, a hopeful smile, earnest green eyes. Shared magic, shared responsibility, shared understanding. The roar of a chainsaw against wood and spitting, snarling fights.

She falls over the edge minutes later, a forbidden moan slipping forth as she leans heavily on the edge of the ship, shaking and clenching around his calloused fingers. He follows not a moment after, spilling into her hand as the breath rushes out of his lungs.

When Regina finally comes back to herself and dares to open her eyes, this time her cheeks are wet – just one of the many ways her body has betrayed her these last days. Hook is soft now and she pulls her hand free, pushes his away and cleans up their mess with a quick swish of magic.

Regina stares at the dark, dark sky and staunchly refuses to turn or let Hook see her with tears still rolling down her cheeks uncontrollably. He lingers behind her awkwardly, as if he knows, wants to offer comfort or soothing words.

“Is there anything I can–”

“No,” she grits out as dryly as she can manage. “Leave me.”

“Right,” Hook grunts. He lingers for another minute. “Suit yourself. Got a ship to steer anyway.” And then he’s gone, and she feels the emptiness behind her immediately.

Pretends she doesn’t. Doesn’t think of the pirate or black leather, or _red_ leather and _blonde_ because she doesn’t know _what the_ _fuck_ that had been just moments before she came. Doesn’t think of her mother or torture or Good. Instead she closes her eyes and feels the cool breeze on her skin and breathes deeply and pretends Henry is safe and everything is right.

(Everything is terrible.)

* * *

In yet another cruel twist of events, they are thrust back into the Enchanted Forest, all of them, minus the only two people who actually matter.

Emma and Henry are _gone,_ their memories erased so they remember nothing of magic or the last two years or _family_. It’s Regina’s sacrifice, her price to pay for everyone, and sometimes at night she feels so angry she thinks she might break. But she is trying to be _good_ , for her son who doesn’t remember her and because it’s the right thing to do and because she is so tired of losing.

But this is the biggest loss, and tonight is one of those nights where she thinks there’s no _point_ , not when it gets her this. She can’t even take a sleeping draught or rip out her own heart and bury it – she’d tried those and all it had got her was humiliation without relief.

But _this –_

“We can’t keep doing this,” Regina gasps, pressing her face into the silk sheets. Hook’s on his knees behind her – she prefers not to see his stupid smug face – thrusting away, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing the obscene moans she can’t quite bite back.

“I don’t think a few times a decade is a habit, Your Majesty,” Hook sasses and pulls her hips back against him. The angle changes and suddenly he is so much _deeper_ , and it has her cursing loudly, pillow be damned.

“Besides, we’re just scratching an itch – it doesn’t _mean anything_ ,” he gasps, and she knows he’s thinking of Emma.

 _Emma –_ who is gone, doesn’t remember anything of magic or her family or Regina or Hook, Emma who has Regina feeling confusing things these days. Emma, the Saviour, born of true love and, by definition, too good for either of them so it doesn’t matter _what_ she feels, because Emma is brave and good and unattainable, especially now she is in a whole other realm.

“I need – _fuck–_ ” Regina’s fists clench behind her back. Her arms are tied with pretty crimson ropes that loop and knot all the way up from her wrists to her upper arms – payback, for when she’d tied Hook down, and she can’t say she minds. The loss of control is – therapeutic somehow. Her mind had turned fuzzy and soft when he’d begun tying the ropes, moving them over her skin, and maybe it should trigger old, unpleasant memories, but she just finds herself so _relieved_ not to have to think or fight or prove her strength for an hour or two.

She could free herself if she wanted to, anyway.

She doesn’t.

The pirate catches the stretch of rope between her elbows on his hook, drawing her up into an upright position until she’s leaning back against his chest, sitting in his lap. Regina’s head spins with the motion and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“What do you need?” Hook taunts, unlooping his hook, bringing it round to her front and dragging it torturously, slowly upwards until it presses against her throat instead. Cool, threatening, _thrilling._ He could have her throat out in a heartbeat, end all this stupid fucking pain instantly.

He doesn’t.

He’s still fucking her, harder now, and with the pillow gone, her moans ring out loudly, bouncing off the stone walls. She finds herself immensely glad her chamber is far away from everyone else’s, because god knows Snow would be all over this if she knew.

“I need to – ah – my clit–”

“Like this?” He reaches his good hand down between her thighs, making delicious circles and giving her soft flicks that have Regina shaking and almost sobbing _oh fuck, fuck fuck_. Moments later, she’s going rigid, spilling around him as his hook presses even harder against the soft skin just beneath her jaw. His mouth is on the shell of her ear, her jawline, soft and warm and soothing as she trembles through her high.

He hasn’t cum yet, so with the last bit of her energy, Regina slips off him and turns in his arms as smoothly as possible, letting his arousal slide through her wetness. Then she sinks down on him again, rocks her hips, lets him rut inside her. He reaches back down between her thighs, plays with her lazily, more gently than he ever has before, and she knows he’s thinking of her.

Maybe they both are.

She lets herself feel, anyway, imagines whether this is how Emma likes to be touched. _No,_ she’s not thinking, not thinking about anything but especially not her, not that.

Regina kisses down Hook’s chest and twirls her tongue over a peaked nipple, sucking and listening to his gasping, masculine moan. Another weakness of his, it seems, and bites down lightly. He’s teasing her slowly but surely into a final soft orgasm, and she repeats the motion on his other nipple and feels him buck once, twice, and then explode inside her on the third.

When they’re both spent, sweating and gasping, she sags against him, too exhausted or blissed out to do anything but breathe hard and revel in the sensation of him turning her, carefully unknotting the ropes and easing her down against the sheets. Her thighs are sticky with the evidence of them both and her arms are sore, but he’s strangely gentle with her when they do this.

“Alright, love?” Hook husks, a hand stroking along her hip, over her ass and down the back of her thigh. Regina just nods, tries not to think too hard about this or anything at all lest all those ruinous thoughts about loss come back. The only reason she does this is to _forget._

“Need anything?” She shakes her head because he’s only asking out of courtesy and she won’t humiliate herself any further by actually _needing_ him to tend to her when she’s all fuzzy and rope-happy like this. Hook just nods and breathes, lays beside her in the hot bed and stares up.

Then he reaches out and grabs the pack of smokes he’d left on the bedside table, pulls one out and asks, “Got a light?”

With a flick of her hand, Regina lights it, and then curls deeper into the sheets and watches the smoke curl into the air. It’s calming. It reminds her of another world. 

“Are you really going?” Regina murmurs throatily when she manages to find her voice. She doesn’t mean tonight, because neither of them ever hang about after they do this and it’s fine.

Hook nods, takes a deep drag. “There’s nothing here for me anymore – now that – well.” _now that Emma’s gone._ He stops himself before he can make things uncomfortably vulnerable for the both of them with unsaid words they can both hear anyway.

“You know we can’t get her – them back,” Regina says softly into the air anyway, cringes at her subconscious slip-up and yeah, it’s a little too vulnerable. Hook looks at her, something knowing in his eyes.

It’s too much, and Regina reaches for the cigarette in his hand. She’s never been much of a smoker – it’s not exactly befitting a queen to reek of her vices – but it’s been a long time since she’d had a one-off indulgence, maybe not since Graham. (Graham, Storybrooke, _Henry, Emma_ –)

She brings it to her lips, inhales deeply, holds it, and when she breathes out, she is calmer.

“I know. But a castle’s no place for a pirate – no offence. Figure I’ll be better off finding my ship and returning to the life I know best,” Hook answers when she passes it back, and that she can understand. God, if she could just sail off into the horizon and forget about their mutual loss, she would – but she’s obligated to stay and help these fools figure out this flying-monkey business, and maybe she needs the distraction of revenge more.

He’d never had such obligations – Regina knows the only reason he’d ever hung around, even bothered with any of them was his hunt for revenge and then his yearning for Emma.

Regina just nods, hums in agreement rather than say anything, and then they both lapse into silence as Hook smokes and Regina clings to what’s left of her fuzzy high. They pass the cigarette back and forth, both deep in their own thoughts.

They don’t do this, this talking afterwards thing. It isn’t them and it’s awkward, but tonight, it feels maybe necessary – a goodbye, an acknowledgement. 

That doesn’t mean she can’t be a little relieved when Hook finishes the last of the cigarette, reaches up behind him, stubs it out on the stone windowsill like some kind of animal, and stands up. He finds his pants and shirt and redresses quickly, and Regina turns her back to him and pulls the sheets tighter around her. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” is all the good luck she can offer him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he promises. “Best of luck with your witch problem, your Majesty.” And then the chamber door creaks open and thuds shut a moment later.

Regina shuts her eyes and surrenders to sleep and the familiar flashes of red and blonde and a son who doesn’t remember she exists.

* * *

They don’t see each other for a long time after that, and when they do, everything is complicated again. Henry doesn’t remember her, and Emma and Hook are busy together with some kind of on-off weird one-sided hate-lust-love relationship that has Regina’s blood boiling inexplicably. She can’t tell if she’s suddenly irrationally jealous of Emma being with the pirate, or if she’s mad at Hook for daring to leer at her and effortlessly slipping into their little family when Regina has fought so _fucking_ hard to be accepted.

It’s confusing. It’s irritating as hell.

So she stays away, busies herself with magic, with research, with anything to avoid dealing with the fact that her son has no idea who she is and seeing everyone happily paired up. She jumps at any chance at a fight with her sister, takes out her rage on another witch who can frankly handle all the violent magic she throws about. And when Robin Hood turns up, all cheeky smirks and teasing flirtation, Regina resigns herself to it and gives as good as she gets – flirts back, lets her eyes wander because he’s at least not bad to look at, and maybe if she believes hard enough, Tink will be right and this thing she’s forcing herself into will suddenly, magically feel right.

It doesn’t.

He’s lovely, but she kisses him hard and feels nothing, nothing like the thrill of rebellion and mutual understanding she’d felt with Hook, nothing like the fire of co-parent fights and shared magic.

He’s just too _nice._

She softens herself to match, honest to god tries, but when they end up in bed, she digs her nails into his chest, rolls her hips hard against him and hisses, _harder_ , _I’m not going to_ break _, god –_ and he just holds her gently and it only infuriates her more.

She can’t be what he wants. Can’t be _good_ and soft and submissive all her waking hours, can’t let herself melt into him and talk about _true love_ and _hope_ when everything is in awful chaos right now and the only thing that makes her cum is flashes of leather and blonde and ropes around her wrists, around his wrists, and delicious light and dark magic trickling down her spine. 

He deserves better. She doesn’t deserve it, but god, she wants better too.

Wants so bad to be selfish, wants to reach out and _take_ and touch and feel and damn all this good-evil karma-fate business to hell.

Marian comes back because of _fucking Emma Swan_ , always trying to do the right thing and save everyone, and she rages, isolates herself for three weeks and convinces herself it was _true love,_ she loved Robin, and she hates that Emma and Hook are still perfectly happy together.

She realises in the end, slowly, finally, suddenly, it was never Robin she was angry about missing.


End file.
